


Lacrimatory

by Adara_Rose



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Angst, Despair, Grief/Mourning, Heartache, Heartbreak, I broke my own heart, M/M, Spoilers, ending spoilers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-31
Updated: 2015-10-31
Packaged: 2018-04-29 01:40:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 470
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5111666
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Adara_Rose/pseuds/Adara_Rose
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The tale of Inquisitor Winsome Lavellan, told in snippets and pieces.</p><p>Prompt: Lacrimatory [adj.]:  relating to or prompting tears</p><p>Spoilers for trespasser, epilogue</p>
            </blockquote>





	Lacrimatory

He sat on the ground outside his arlathan, slim hands slowly forming a bowl from soft, reddish clay. His head was bent low, red hair falling around his face like a shroud hiding him from the world.

Around his neck, in a blue silk pouch resting against his heart lay  the crystal Dorian had given him as a farewell gift. He hated that blasted crystal; hated it's inactivity, it's silence. It felt like a noose around his neck, the drawstring holding the pouch. And yet, to take it off was unimaginable.

It had been two months since he had at last seen Dorian and today was the first day he had managed to leave not only his bed but the safety and isolation of the arlathans four walls and closed door.

Here he was, the inquisitor of Skyhold, savior of the world, hiding amongst his clan in the wilderness like a coward. But he simply could not face the world yet. Not when he still cried himself to sleep every night. Not when his chest felt like it was full of broken glass.

 _I will be returning permanently._ Gods, those words had been like knives, slicing him to pieces. And to think he had been excited to see him again, had bought expensive new clothes and taken so many hours to painstakingly get his hair just right. His heart singing with joy as he made himself beautiful for the man who owned his heart. The man who had destroyed him, taken his soul and walked away.

He had not washed his hair since that day. He could not remember the last time he put on fresh clothes. It didn't matter. Nothing mattered, anymore.

His tears fell on the clay, making it loose and useless. He had used the crystal five times so far; each time had been a “bad time”, with a promise to “call later”. He wondered, as he kept trying to shape the wet clay collapsing in his hands, when “later” was. It had not happened yet. Maybe _later_ meant _never_ , he thought despairingly.

He stared down at the mess in front of him with sightless eyes, finally letting the clay slip from his useless hands. The tears that refused to stop falling made trails in the dirt and salt on his cheeks but he didn't bother wiping them away. Instead he sang, softly, quietly;

 _By a lonely harbor wall, he watched the last star falling as the ship sailed out against the sky. Now he waits, he waits and he prays,  for his love so far_ _away-_ his voice broke of into a heart-wrenching sob. He raised his muddy hands and buried his face in them, trying in vain to muffle the cries that made his entire body shake.

  
And the crystal mocked him with its silence.


End file.
